Keeping My Head Above Water

The past week was a bit of a mixed bag. I managed to miss my morning bus three of the four work days, and I had several bouts with my old friend depression that left me lethargic and still but anxious. Yet, I also managed to get out and walk a few times during my lunch break - painful walks - they always are until I get back into the swing of it all - but ones that seemed to tranquillize me a bit. I downed the prerequisite bags of junk food while at work, but also made sure I had salads for lunch.

The death of our former neighbor in Ballard started a mourning period for our old neighborhood and community I thought I had bypassed. I spent many hours with ponderous thoughts I have no need to articulate. That has been done for centuries by songwriters penning lyrics on the passing of time.

The Sunrise,Sunset quality has even followed me in a speeded up version with the baby chicks. They are now more than twice the size they were when we adopted them, and full of new feathers and large wing spans. They eat, sleep, squawk, and poop while I contemplate the meaning of life and the hours that have already gone by.

Papa Seed is up in the mountains, working on his research. Last night Mancub and I ate pizza and candy and watched Year of the Dog. I was worried that it wasn't funny enough to keep Mancubs interest, perhaps too adult (not in the sexual way, but in the life experience way), too full of character studies and not "characters" ala stereotypes and broad strokes. He stayed with it, however we have yet to really talk about it. Over burgers today I mentioned to him that I had spent a lot of time thinking about the movie this morning. He said "It was good", and I left it at that. What I wanted to say to him, and did, is that it wasn't what I expected (or even feared), that usually movies of that genre go for a happy ending or some resolution of the boy meets girl theme. In this one, the Molly Shannon (GOD I love her) character finds herself making some pretty big changes in her life, in part to connect with a potential boyfriend. The boyfriend doesn't stick, the changes do and continue to evolve and become her new love.

It is really a very charming film. It kept heading towards cliches and stupid put downs of modern life, but it always veered into a different direction when it came within reaching distance of those things. It is a film that is much more powerful upon reflection. I'm convinced that Mike White is going to be one of the greats of film. I've never been able to shake Chuck and Buck, quite possibly the most uncomfortable film in the history of cinema. When he is on, as he is in the two films I mentioned, he gets under the skin in the most unexpected way. Just two weeks ago I saw a "Father and Son" spread that told me he is the son of Mel White, the now openly gay Reverend and former writer for Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. I found that shocking, but now it is all starting to make some kind of perfect sense. These are some pretty complex folks.

Halfway through the movie, there was a cloud of dust and tiny feathers, then one of the chicks (I'm pretty sure it was Esmeralda, but it could have been her clucky counterpart Yva) popped through the wire netting on top of their crate. She looked around as if to say So, now what? I had Mancub herd the dogs and I raced over to grab her and put her back in. I have no idea how that happened. They must have been doing cheerleading pyramids in there or something. Tomorrow we build a bigger crate for them to spend the next month in. After that, they should be ready for the coop.

Last night we tried to go to Zippys the new burger place in our neck of the woods, but it was closed by the time we go there. I told Mancub we'd try again today, and we did. Alas, they had run out of burgers by 4:30 (they close at 7:30). I guess this has been happening since they opened, and they keep increasing what they get but it is never enough. Good for them, but we have yet to try a Zippy's burger and I'm thinking I might go vegetarian any day now. Instead we drove over to Alki to try Pepperdocks which I friend recommended. Pretty good burger, decent fries, okay strawberry milkshake, not so good onion rings. This is not the kind of food I'd ever go out to get on my own, but it is what Mancub likes, so I treat him when I want to bond. We talked about the movie, girls, jobs, life. He drove home, and he is getting better although he still takes corners too fast. It won't be long before he is on his own. Swiftly flow the days.

Assorted Goods

Busy week.

The chicks are already twice as big. Papa Seed turned 41. Our dear friend Big G~ came out for a three day visit. Mancub went through a week of intense teenage romance angst. There were a lot of tears and text messages. We did a little of Folklife, but less than we usually do. We had a couple of the neffs over for a day and a night. Today Big G~, Papa Seed, Mancub and I went to see the second Narnia movie. I thought the first one was pretty entertaining, but this was just one long battle scene. Last night I had the most intense series of dreams. I'd wake up every few hours and sift through the dreams, trying to sort reality from sleepland. I'm not sure I was successful. Big G~ flew back tonight, and I spent part of the day updating my Classmates.com profile for no particular reason since I've had it there for several years and not once have connected with anyone from HS, not that I remember the majority of them. My head is sunburned.

Chicks

We picked the hottest day of the year so far to drive a bit out of town to go get the baby chicks. Now we have five of the tiny critters, about the cutest little things you ever could hope to see. It was all pretty easy. We walked into the Feed Store and the woman at the counter set us right up. We left with one Rhode Island Red (the last of that breed), two Australorps, and two Golden Sex-Links - and I am still trying to figure out what that means. My research says something about the sex is linked to the color, but it isn't really the breed. Could be a cross breed. I guess the girls will be golden.



The furry boys are very excited about all of this. They aren't sure if the new guests are here for dinner, or just a snack. They also can't figure out why we put a screen up so they can't get to them. We have some lion and the lamb work to do.

Mancub was out watching his girlfriend jump horses, so he didn't get to see them until he got back home. I wanted him to go with us, but the girlfriend is #1 Priority at all times. He says the Rhode Island Red is his, and probably will name her "Dew" after his Mountain Dew colored bedroom. He has brand loyalty now. It's just a phase.

Last night, the trio of humans walked just to the end of the street to go to the opening night of the new pizza place. Pizza was pretty good, the place was empty, the woman who was the Hostess was incredibly charming, and the guys all kind of stood around and gave blank stares. We love having a place like this in our neighborhood. We saw that they have calamari and Greek pizzas, which we will order when we go without Mancub. His food tastes are just east of KFC and just west of Wendy's. No vegan anarcho-punk, he. He wanted garlic chicken, so that is what we got. He actually wanted the chicken one that had pineapple on it, and I love our kid but there are some things I just won't do. Ordering pineapple on a pizza is at the top of the list. I guess there is something a bit wrong about eating chicken on a pizza the night before we go adopt five of the critters, but the two adults aren't really vegan anarcho-punks either, in spite of how they sometimes like to view themselves. And we each had a Coke.

In about a year, we should have eggs. Eggs and calamari, just seconds away.

Ice And Ibuprofen

On and off since the end of December I've been dealing with a rib injury brought upon by a severe cough from the two month plus cold I caught at the work Holiday Party. Eventually the cold went away, and the cough diminished (I've been having daily coughing attacks for the last 17 years and don't expect them to disappear anytime soon), but the rib pain lingered. And lingered. And lingered. I had to miss a lot of work, cancel a trip to California, sleep in a recliner, and stayed pretty miserable for most of the winter. Doctors were worthless, all four of them. It will just need to heal and there isn't anything that can be done, but you can try ibuprofen for the pain. $15.00 copay each time. Finally it was almost gone. Then a week or two ago, it started up again - not as bad, but it was there. Five days ago it came back with a flourish. The last two days I've been home from work, unable to walk a block or get a full breath.

The pain seems to be starting in the front, but it goes around the side and when it gets really bad it runs across my back, which is what it has been doing most of the last few days. A combination of slipping cartilage and muscle pain I guess. I'm just so over it, however I'm still not over it.

While I was icing it last night, I watched a documentary on Hiroshima and Nagasaki; White Light, Black Rain



It was the most horrific film I've ever seen. It starts off with Modern Day Japan in all it's glory, color and fun. Really takes you in and gives you the idea that it isn't going to be all that bad a ride. Then come the interviews with the survivors, and things start to get a little rough. The interviews are quite stark and raw, and one gets the feeling that these are not discussions these folks have had often (and, in reading an interview with the Director today, I found that was indeed the case). Years of seeing other films and photographs of the bombing of those two cities didn't prepare me for the images that followed. I had to avert my eyes several times. Brutal, violent, devastating, soul-crushing photographs and film, so impossible to believe. One woman talks of finding her mother's skeleton right after the bomb, then as she stands there with her sister she sees it turn to dust. Burned flesh and ripped off faces of children. Burned corpses. Legless and armless half dead humans.

One of the survivors removes his shirt to show his deformed body. He has gone through the last sixty plus years with ribs exposed, and an opening that shows his heart beating. Never again, I thought, can I justify bitching about my rib pain (although, that didn't last even a day). The men who dropped the bombs are also interviewed. I haven't quite processed their reactions - which seem to be along the lines of "we had to do it, I have no regrets, and we can't ever let this happen again" I think it is dangerous to try to form to certain of an opinion of those times for those of us who were born more than a decade later. I can't fathom what any of the people involved went through. But it is clear, it can't ever happen again.

The rain here at home has been much more peaceful. I love the rain, the sound, the smell, the feel. I'm hoping I can get back to work tomorrow. I'm one of the rare folks who actually love my job (although give me a winning lottery ticket and I'm gone), and I have a hard time making the most of my time when I end up at home unexpectedly and in no physical shape to do anything. I'll continue with the ice and ibuprofen, and listen to the rain as I try to keep things in perspective

Moms

A little self-mothering is in order today, my first Mother's Day without my Mama.

My favorite Sunday Morning Broadcast, Preachin ' the Blues on KEXP was doing a salute to Moms by featuring female artists; Bettye LaVette, Candi Staton, Ann Peebles, Marva Whitney, Denise LaSalle, Millie Jackson, Gwen McCrae, Mavis Staples and many others. Not one name that my actual Mother would have recognized, but all of them give me a feeling of warmth and comfort as she did.

My deal with the Devil continues as yesterday I self admitted that the iPod is actually better than anything that came before it. I thought it would hurt more to let the Zombies eat at my flesh, or to have the pods take over in my sleep. Oh no, I may be on to something there. I think I just got a chill. I don't resent the last few years of eye-rolling and bad-mouthing and announcing the end of Civilization was we know it, but neither will I feel guilt or remorse for the intense pleasure I received adding podcasts and music to my credit card sized toy.

I've said this many times before, but what is quite possibly the most annoying game of the last decade is the "What Do You Have On Your iPod?" one. But now I'm going to play.

Podcasts (just a sampling, not the complete list)
PRI's Studio 360
Sierra Club Radio
Podictionary
Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day
The IFC News Podcast
KCRW's The Treatment
Tree Hugger Radio
World Book Club
plus several Spanish and Japanese lessons, more environmental, film, news, food and other types of programs

Music (again, a sampling)

Allen Ginsberg - Holy Soul Jelly Roll Vol.4 Ashes & Blues (from the boxset)
Albert Ayler Quintet - Holy Ghost 3 (from the box set)
Erykah Badu - New Amerykah: Part One
Plants - Photosynthesis
Marissa Nadler - Songs III: Bird on the Water
Xenis Emputae Travelling Band - Under A Soular Moon
Mariee Sioux
Eugene McDaniels - Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse
Fatea Showcase Sessions
Talib Kweli - Eardrum
Pharoah Sanders - Elevation
Jack Kerouac = Blues & Haiukus
Reiko Kudo - Rice Field Silently Riping In The Night
and many other delights, made up of things from our CD collection, free downloads, and at least one gift from a friend.

It is amazing really, to have so much at my fingertips without having to carry around four, five, six different bulky items. And there is artwork, some that comes with the podcasts or albums, some I added because it wasn't available.

My mother would never have been able to figure this thing out, and she would have hated the earbuds, as do I. She would not recognize a single name of any of the artists or podcasts. I remember trying to teach her how to email. It wasn't going to happen. I hear from folks who have taught their parents and grandparents how to do it, but that didn't happen in my family. I guess I prefer that I got letters and cards, but I also got lazy on my end and I regret that.

Last night we went to the niece's and great neff's housewarming. Mancub was grouchy, since he had two friends spend the night on Friday - and by spend the night I'm referring to staying up all night playing video games. A lack of sleep makes Mancub a grouchy teen. He ended up having fun, playing more video games with one of the neffs, while the adults (most half my age) played Cranium WOW. I hadn't played before. It was awesome. I had a good team. They guessed my molded bear skin rug, and my prairie dog drawing. My Mama would have loved that game. She'd be glad to know I was spending a Saturday night playing a game with her granddaughter.

Not related to any of the above - except perhaps that my Mama always saw me as an artist, I saw a photograph of the painting below in the newspaper. Apparently it won an award. I'm too old and jaded to be starstruck and obsessed. I still can't even deal with my feelings of Heath Ledger's death. I won't discuss it, and I don't want anyone to share their opinions about it. Words fail me. It probably doesn't make sense to have such a strong emotional attachment and depression over one who should be nothing more than a talented celebrity. I think this painting (by Vincent Fantauzzo) is hauntingly beautiful.

Dads

Mancub's girlfriend's father called me while I was at work today - irate. Wanted to know why he was hearing that he was going to interrogate Mancub. Matching his intensity sans the anger, I let him know that what we had said is that Mancub is no longer to go to his house. He seemed annoyed by that, and I explained that he and his ex-wife were having custody battles over their daughter, that things were clearly getting heated, and that our son really shouldn't be in the middle of that conflict - nor should we, his parents. He wanted to explain his rules, and I said that they were neither here nor there at this point, because Mancub wouldn't be going over there and so the rules were not an issue. Somehow, these families at war have tried to recruit us and when that fails to go to war with us, and to allow our son to play a role in their extreme relationship issues. And we are the dramatic people? Mercy.

I guess I forgot that when I signed up to be a parent, I signed up to deal with other parents.

Mancub had a difficult time in Driver's Training yesterday. It was painful for him, and for us to watch. I've promised him that now that the move is over, Papa Seed and I will step up to the plate to make sure he gets in all the practice driving he should have been getting all along. I guess the parent in the above paragraph "offered" or "suggested" that he would take him out for practice drives. This message was conveyed through the daughter, and Mancub wasn't too thrilled by it. We let Mancub know that wasn't going to be happening. It was our job. He already has two Dads. He doesn't need a third.

I'm a bit of a nervous passenger, which is kind of like saying Tom Cruise is a tad daffy, and I flinched several times as Mancub was driving us through the neighborhood down the narrow streets. There was a good .005 of an inch between the passenger side of the car and cars parked on the side of the street at all times, so I don't know why I was worried. He only went about 10 miles an hour faster than he should have been going too. I'll be doing this every night, or every other night if Papa Seed and I take turns. I hope I can't be arrested for Drunk Back Seat Driving, because I may have to toss back a few stiff ones before doing it again.

I watched 51 Birch Street after work today. It was, in a way, the perfect film for this week of reflection and soft grief. Do we ever know our parents? the ad copy reads, and the answer seems to be "no", but in one way or another we will spend a big portion of our lives trying to figure it out. I know that is true for me, the first few weeks of May each year especially. I've come to appreciate my father so much more after his death than I ever did when he was alive. In the film, Doug Block (the filmmaker) comes to a different understanding of his father by the end - one still full of conflict - but an appreciation. Then there is the sadness of the loss of his mother, and reflections on the life his mother was never able to live. I could relate. I'm sure I'll be spacing out tomorrow - thinking about this film and my life.

Bridges

Garden Bridge

My mother would be turning 90 today, if she had survived last Fall. It is also the 21st anniversary of Aim, my first partner. Neither of them are here, and yet the life I have now wouldn't exist without them. My mother gave to me her entire life. Being able to buy the house we now live in was the final gift she gave me, after she left this world behind. I've got at least six years more on life than Aim ever did, but he is always going to be the older, wiser voice in my head.

Last night I watched my first movie on the new TV. Since buying it, we have watched Survivor twice - and other than an afternoon of channel surfing to check it out, have watched nothing else. The TV shows, at least those that are not in HDTV, come out looking circus mirror distorted and the digital effect is inconsistent, sometimes being lifelike clear, at other times little more than an early generation ViewMaster, and still others a bunch of haze. The movie however came in crystal clear. It was Crazy Love, a documentary about Burt and Linda Pugach - a couple I had only the tiniest memory of hearing about in the past. He is a rich ambulance chasing lawyer obsessed with her, but doesn't mention he is married as he pursues her love. She doesn't take too kindly to that when she finds out and dumps him to start dating a dream lover. A few days before her marriage to dream lover, he hires a couple of thugs to toss acid in her face, blinding her. Off he goes to prison to spend a few years in solitary and electric shock therapy. She travels the world with 20% sight in one eye and incredibly mod outfits and sunglasses. After his release he pursues her again, and because she has been unable to form any other intimate relationship of substantial duration, she agrees to marry him. 30 some odd years later, they remain married. Now she is totally sightless. Everyone in the film is a character. Comedy is tragedy plus time - only it is unclear throughout if there has been enough time for the former to trump the latter. Both battle it out - him and her, comedy and tragedy. Amazing film.

This morning I had to stand, even on the later bus. It wasn't so bad. I put a podcast of Coffee Geek on my iPod and got to look out of windows on both sides as we crossed the bridge and entered downtown. I still feel like a fabulous 70's era sitcom star when I hop off the bus and walk the three blocks in the middle of town to get on the streetcar. I'm only missing a few feelgood moments with a smiling hat tipping doorman, an old woman crossing the street that I help avoid getting splashed by the delivery truck with my quick matador flick of an overcoat, and a racing businessman who double takes and U turns to offer me his coffee that he won't have time to drink before flying through the office doors - all set to bright cheerful music to make my morning dream come true. City Boy - You Got The World On Your Side!

Mancub went to a Boy Scouts meeting last night, or as Papa Seed and I called it; The Homophobic Boy Scouts Meeting. After letting him know why it wasn't something that we would suggest he do, we told him that he was free to go just as he is free to go and explore any church, political group, or interest that doesn't involve threats or actual physical violence (except of course for wrestling, which we totally approve of). The main draw is that two of his new best friends go. Last night he said it wasn't all that great - that it was just a bunch of people who think they are better than anyone else (Really? A homophobic organization with folks who think they are better than others? Stop the press!!!) He may continue to go, so that he can hang out with his friends. That is fine, but we aren't going to volunteer to help out with their camping trips. We also got the report back that his two friends thought coming over here was awesome, and that one of them is now in love with the Taco Truck. Ha! Gay Dads at the Taco Truck trumps learning to tie knots in the church basement. He shoots, he scores!

In spite of the folks in an on line forum who tried to tell me that being a Gay Dad meant child abuse, and that I was trying to turn him into a homosexual, our goal is to make sure he gets to explore whatever he feels a calling to explore while knowing he is always going to be safe and loved at home. Let the kid go through whatever phases he has in his future - even if that means being a Mormon or an Aerosmith fan (but please don't let him explore being a Scientologist or a Libertarian, my strength in these matters has limits). He can make his world whatever he wants it to be, and there will always be a bridge back home.

We've Come Undone

Another weekend with a lot of plans to get things done and a lot more left undone when all is said and...well, done.

We insisted that Mancub spend time with us. He called on Friday to say he wanted to spend the night at a friend's house, then tried to negotiate when we said "No", then tried to get us to explain why when we wouldn't budge. You would have thought he had never heard the word "No" before.

Something I've learned, and often still forget, is that you can't ask a teenage boy if he wants to do something, you have to say "we are going to...". Options sound great when one is reading books and thinking about how to be an awesome, progressive, nurturing parent. Reality, however, dictates a much less flexible hand. This is what we are doing. Get moving. Sounds harsh, but there usually is almost no fuss 10 minutes later, and usually smiles. Options lead directly to sullen.

With that in mind, we told him we were going back to Ikea. Ikea is the magic land where we have a second residency. We met our friend M~ there to have some meatballs and get a little help with the train of carts we used to get our latest booty. Now we have more boxes of things to put together scattered around our home.

Because that wasn't enough fun and wallet cleansing, we then went to Fry's, home of the North Korea-esque check out policy, where one employee introduces you to another employee who walks you and your purchases to yet another employee that takes you money and sends you to a final team of employees to check your receipt and purchases. Mancub got yet another wireless device that I don't understand and that still doesn't seem to correct his inablility to get on line, Papa Seed got an early birthday present in the form of a green iPod (we are now a three iPod household which we never saw coming three months ago when two of us were totally repulsed by the little things), and at the very last minute I grabbed a copy of Midnight Cowboy on DVD because it was dirt cheap, it is one of my all time favorite movies, I caught it out of the corner of my eye when the third North Korean Soldier was walking us to the counter, and damn it - I wanted a present too.

We are going to be riding the Poverty Train BIG TIME as soon as we reenter reality.



Front Yard Boys

The furry boys are getting settled in their new home. Baby Boy managed to open up a replacement cat door that we got to replace the one he destroyed (although we have yet to get a cat) and dragged a new Ikea Welcome Mat through it. Tore the mat in five places after less than 12 hours of welcoming folks to our home. I finally made a left instead of a right when I walked them on the trail behind our house, and WOW do we live in the most Magical Place On Earth. I still can not believe we live here. I can't believe it. As I was walking along the trail, that is dotted by homes several yards from the trail, and crosses wooden bridges and running water and hummingbirds fly above, I kept thinking to myself I am the most fortunate person on earth. It really is magical.



Baby Hops

Papa Seed managed to tackle several projects, including getting the Home Depot tool shed put together, getting the mountain of goods stacked outside down to a small hill, and planting the hops - giving them a little twine to get going on. Soon they will climb that wall and be huge. Then they will be beer. He did the same thing at the last house, and they thrived. All of this was done while sporting his new green iPod, which he is now fondly attached to, and there is yet another person in the house who now can't hear you when you talk to him.

Mancub invited a couple of his friends to come over to our house today (part of our deal the other night - invite them to our place). They ate candy and played video games and watched funny, vulgar videos on You Tube - which is soooo adolescent of them. Then we took the boys to the Taco Truck before driving them home.


Taco Truck

He got to show off having a Taco Truck in his neighborhood, and seemed quite pleased by sharing his new area of expertise with the kids from the other side of the tracks.

And now another week awaits with so much left to do.

Fruit And Meat

Yesterday's newspaper had a very interesting story about the lack of stores where one can be fresh fruit/produce in our neighborhood. Within two blocks I have a couple of options where I can get a high fructose carbonated soda to go along with some heavily processed deep fried nonfood (don't let that fool you into thinking I still wouldn't find it tasty), but you almost have to have a passport and hiking gear to get anything close to what grows or is raised on a farm. I guess the things that are raised on a farm grow as well. I repeat myself again and again.

Sad, and like everything that seems like it should have a most simple solution, the resolution seems endlessly complex. Why is that always the case? Truly we need a food revolution in this country. I toy with the idea of going back to school to study urban planning, or some kind of urban agriculture type thing, but I just don't think I'm cut out to go back. Papa Seed has been back at it for the last eight years, and he is much smarter and hard-working than I'll ever hope to be. Maybe someone else is going to have the save the world.

As I was walking by one of the cigarette and candy bar stores today, I was remembering the little mercados in San Francisco that seemed to be dotted along every block where you could get a steamed tamale, a fresh mango, a choice of bananas, and that high fructose carbonated drink - or something much more fruit-filled and nutritious. We need those here. We need fruit stands, and stores that offer fresh baked goods, and alternatives to bags of chips and corn dogs. Although, again, I love corn dogs.

I'm hearing a calling to be a food activist, damn voices in my head. I haven't a clue as to how to start. I picked up Hopes Edge several years ago and was inspired when I would sit and read it, but I never finished it. I found it when we moved and put it in a special box so I could start it again, but I'm not sure which special box that is. I did finish The Revolution Will Not Be Microwaved last year or the year before and I was ready to take to the streets. And I should not forget that I did everything short of standing on street corners with pamplets to sing the praises of The Omnivore's Dilemma, about as religious an experience I could have with my clothes on and my mind unaltered by recreational chemicals. Of course, I still hit the snack machine at least once a day at work, still put away a huge bag or two or three of tortilla chips more often than we stop for gas, and weigh three times what I weighed in High School, so I'd be a rather suspicious food activist. Still, I think I should at least stick my head in the neighborhood association building, or walk over to the community garden, or strike up a conversation with the gas station owner that makes a living on Twinkies and Coke.

We bought a half of a pig - she no longer lives - from our friend's friend's daughter who raises them. We shared a pig a year or so ago in the same way. The meat ends up costing about two bucks a pound or less. We know where it comes from. We know how it was raised. At some point in the next week or two, we need to go pick it up from Port Orchard, where the butcher has turned it into chops and bacon and other delicious parts. I'm okay with someone turning me into delicious parts after I go too. The meat will be fatty and I imagine quite salty, but it should be good. However I won't be around for refunds or complaints. It beats eternity in the ground.

Chicken Soup

Although both Papa Seed and I took the bus to work today, we got a call that Mancub was sick at school. We had to contact his girlfriend's Mother to pick him up and take him to her house, while Papa Seed hopped on the bus to come home, get the van, and head over there to pick him up. Then they came to get me at work, so although I mastered the art of iPod enhanced coatfree bus riding this morning, I didn't get an opportunity to further refine it this afternoon. It also meant bypassing the Immigrant's Right Protest - a protest that I fully support. But we had a sick son. Gotta take care of the kid.



Chicken Coop


I've got to start doing some research on what we need to do to get the chicks for the chicken coop. I've got a couple of books and bookmarked web sites, and we did take the Urban Chicken Coop Workshop from Seattle Tilth a few years ago, so I should be prepared, but I'm not. Papa Seed is more familiar with this kind of thing having grown up on a farm. I could just let him take over, but the chickens are going to be a family project. Maybe this weekend, or maybe next, we will go get the little critters. They will need to be housebound and warmed up the first month or two - that I remember. We don't want to wait too much longer to get them. Nor do we have a lot of room for excuses since the house came with an amazing coop and run.

I think I'll start with the article in Mother Earth News, see how intimidated that makes me, and try to come up with a plan. I want to hear those fussy little creatures in our backyard. I love the sound of chickens in the morning.